Commission
by Diporae
Summary: As Michelangelo's art gains in popularity he struggles with a few things. Sequel to Pen Name.


I do not own TMNT, but I am forever grateful for their existence!

A/N Props to those who know what game Mikey is playing!

Commission

Michelangelo couldn't sleep. It had been hours since the last of his brothers had hit the hay, and the muffled sounds of their dreaming seemed to mock the insomniac turtle. That, and the giant sheet of blank canvas stretched out on the easel before him.

If someone had told Michelangelo a year ago that his little internet art business would lead him to fast becoming the next big thing in New York's art scene he would not have hesitated to laugh in their face. Sure, he was good with a brush, but he wasn't that good. However, as his pieces somehow escalated from mere art vanilla to celebrated art gelato, the turtle found himself being told he was indeed that good.

Michelangelo did not deny the effort he put into all the art he sold. It was just ironic that the pieces that were his least inspired were suddenly ranking in thousands of dollars. A sketch he would have once sold for $5.00 now would easily go for $100. His paintings' inflation was even more drastic. Just last week he sold an acrylic for $2000! Even after Donatello took his cut for the family funds and for being his brother's tech support, delivery dude, and all-around-go-to turtle, Michelangelo had more money than he ever thought possible. For the first time in his life he was able to buy more comics than he could read in one session!

Only problem was that as Michelangelo's supply of Donatello-approved pieces began to dwindle, he found he was having to spend more time creating and less time goofing off. So his solution was to just keep the size down on his pieces so he could produce them more quickly. For a few months his strategy was successful; until an email arrived last week.

Now as the artist's computer jockey, Donatello was more than happy to deal with any emails that came his brother's way. Usually it was just account receipts and the like with the occasional fan mail. Last Monday morning Donatello called Michelangelo into his lab and instantly the youngest turtle knew something was up. The purple-clad turtle informed his brother that an email had come requesting a meeting with Archangelus Spirare (his alias) to discuss a commission. Instinctively Donatello had also done some digging on the sender to see if they were a scam or a potential enemy. The sender was a middle aged couple that not only had perfect credentials, but were well known millionaires in the New York art scene. They had gained a reputation for promoting new and upcoming artists. Therefore, by contacting Michelangelo, they probably had similar aspirations for him. It was an opportunity of a lifetime, but one he could never accept.

Obviously Michelangelo could not meet these people. A giant mutant turtle on the couple's doorstep with paintbrush and canvas in hand would probably at best cause a heart attack. At worst – well he didn't dare think about that. Donatello was sympathetic to his brother's distress, but did as Michelangelo requested and wrote a short yet polite response declining the offer. Not even half-an-hour later the couple had replied begging to know why such a promising artist would decline such an opportunity. Donatello interrupted his brother's Gnorc massacre to ask what he should write. Michelangelo told Donatello that he could tell them whatever he wanted. His brother returned to his computer and Michelangelo's souring mood caused him to abandon his purple dragon to seek isolation in his room.

Not even ten minutes later, Donatello was knocking on his little brother's door and claiming he and the couple had come to a solution. Michelangelo could not help, but staunch the flutter of hope as he swung the door open to his brother. Apparently Donatello had told the couple that Archangelus Spirare had severe agoraphobia and therefore avoided leaving home or being with people other than his immediate family. The couple were very empathetic claiming that such a condition was not uncommon among artists and instead asked if a telephone conference call would be manageable. Michelangelo was more than thrilled with this solution and by the end of the week he had his first commission.

He was to fashion a large painting that would sit in the entryway of his clients' home. Since Michelangelo couldn't go in person, the couple had emailed Donatello pictures of the space. The young turtle was pretty sure that entrance was bigger than the entirety of the lair. White double doors opened to a light marbled floor. About five meters from the doors a grand marble staircase sat. After twenty steps the staircase symmetrically split and at the landing where the staircase divided was a large light brown section of wall. This was where Michelangelo's painting would sit. The requirements were the painting had to fit in the two by two meter space and its colour scheme must compliment the rest of the forey. Basically it was an artist's dream.

It was now a week since the first email and Michelangelo still stared blankly at the canvas before him. He had made several attempts already, but none of them really went anywhere. It didn't help that a certain number kept flying through his head. The couple would pay him completely once they had the finished product, but they still paid him what they called "a little something" to get him started. Their idea and his idea of "a little something" was clearly different. He still could see Donatello's jaw drop when they spoke that number. The brothers had refused, but the couple would not budge. Now that the sum was in their bank account there was no going back. Donatello was already making plans for some serious lair renovations and Michelangelo knew after his brother was through, even the guys on MTV's Cribs would be jealous.

With that kind of money on the line, the pressure to create increased. Michelangelo had to make this one good. Too bad what he deemed to be his best would never see the light of day. He shook his head trying to banish the thought, but the quiet was not helping. The young turtle sighed and decided that was the problem. Maybe the silence was stifling his creativity. So he dug around the various piles in his room until he found his MP3 player. He jammed the buds in his ears and then laid back on the bed and thought about nothing but the music for a while. Occasionally, he would get bursts of inspiration when he did this. To his chagrin, the same thought kept creeping into his mind. By this point, his defenses were wearing down and after a muffled scream into his pillow he jumped up and grabbed a brush.

Once he gave in, he was lost. The music, the colour, the textures, all of it took over his body and mind. Now that he had finally released the gates it all came flooding out. His mind was spinning and his hand could not move fast enough. He was engulfed in the trance. He had no idea a presence now leaned against the wall by his bed. The giant canvas only added to his mania – never before had he painted with such freedom. Hours passed in what felt like minutes to Michelangelo. A final brush stroke, and he was done.

Slowly, reality along with his senses returned to him. He felt the layer of sweat on his reptilian skin. He felt the gentle ache in his arm. He felt his breathing begin to slow. He felt his heart stop when he detected the presence behind him. A sickening feeling cramped his gut. He knew who was there, he did not need sight or sound to recognize any member of his family, but he found himself praying he was wrong. Especially now... After this...

He pulled his earbuds out, chucked the music player onto a new pile of junk, and held his breath as he turned around. Leaning casually on the wall with an unreadable expression was Raphael. Michelangelo tried to meet his amber eyes trying to gauge what kind of hurricane was coming, but his brother's gaze was fixed on the drying canvas. The silence made the young turtle panic, "Look Raph, it's not what you think! I… I can explain!"

Finally Raphael solemnly regarded him, "Explain what Mikey? That you've been doing this for _years_? Hiding it from me for _years_?"

Michelangelo could not help but cower before his larger brother waiting for what would undoubtedly be the beating of his life. "Raph I-"

His voice died as Raphael stepped towards him, "That you, my little bro, are freaking amazing?"

Michelangelo squeaked out, "Please Raph have mer– Wait. What?"

He looked up to his brother to not see the expected anger in his amber eyes. Instead was that… Pride? Raphael gestured to the painting, "Geez Mikey you really think I'm going to pound you after you painted this?"

Michelangelo's blue eyes were still cautious, "So even though you know I've been painting you for years, including this newest addition, you aren't going to beat me up? Aren't you embarrassed or something?"

Raphael snorted, "I haven't seen the others, but this one is too good to be embarrassed."

The smaller turtle was still confused, "Ooookaaaay… What about when we were kids then? You pretty much said you would kill me if I drew you again."

A frown met Raphael's face and his brother did not miss the hint of sadness in his voice, "Yeah well I was an ass. Still am. I'm working on it though." A slight grin appeared as he nodded to the painting, "Long as you get my good side I don't care what you do."

Michelangelo could not believe it! Raphael was okay with being painted! He even liked this one! A huge dopey smile engulfed his face as he lunged at his big brother. Raphael pried at his brother's arms trying to release himself from the bone-crushing hug, "Mike get off!"

"No way Raphie you owe me this one!"

Raphael rolled his eyes and to Michelangelo's delight returned the embrace; he was all too aware this hug attack had positioned him perfectly to see his brother's muse.


End file.
